Make My Heart Stop
by doctorkaitlyn
Summary: Glenn thought that his heart had stopped.  Spoilers for 205 if you haven't seen it.  Written for the kinkmeme prompt: Daryl/Glenn, group finds out.


**Author's Note:** Written for this fill on the the WD kinkmeme: Daryl/Glenn, group finding out. And then this kind of literally spilled out in the course of an hour and a half or something. I hope all of you lovely readers enjoy it. xo.

**Make My Heart Stop.**

Glenn felt like his heart had stopped in his chest. One minute, Daryl had been there, wavering like a mirage, looking for all intents and purposes like a Walker but he'd been _alive._ When that recognition hit Glenn, he'd wanted to drop his baseball bat and throw himself against Daryl, blood (and that ear necklace) be damned. He'd wanted to just take his face in his hands and kiss him as hard as he could, saying _don't you ever do that to me again_ when he had to pull back to breathe.

But then he'd been gone again, flying off of his feet, disappearing into the long grass like he'd never been there at all. It had all happened so fast, almost in the blink of an eye and for a fraction of a second, Glenn thought that maybe he had been dreaming, had been having a goddamn nightmare worse than any featuring the Walkers. He wanted to pinch himself, to wake up and find himself back in his tent.

Then Rick had screamed, voice cracking as he bolted forward and Glenn realized that he only _wished _he was having a nightmare. His feet seemed stuck to the ground and all he could do was stare as Shane and Rick hoisted Daryl up, his head lolling sickeningly on his neck. Only when they starting sprinting towards Hershel's house did he start running as well, urging his legs to move as fast as they could, to catch up and get a glimpse, just a quick glance at Daryl, confirmation that he was still alive. He couldn't be dead, he _couldn't_ be; this was the man he'd seen dispatch Walkers like they were nothing but flies, the same man who had risked himself to save a little girl that wasn't even his own kin. This was the man he loved, _Daryl fucking Dixon_.

He couldn't just die. Not this way.

No matter how fast he seemed to run, Shane and Rick moved faster, hustling Daryl into the house before he could get another look at his face. He'd wanted to follow them, to barge right through the screen door but Patricia had caught his arm and told him to let Hershel work. So instead, he had parked himself right on the steps, clutching his bat, trying to swallow past the massive lump that seemed to have taken up residence in his throat. Over in the trees where they had set up camp, he could hear Dale practically screaming at Andrea and he felt his grip tighten even more.

He knew Andrea had issues but he had a feeling that if she had killed Daryl because she didn't know how to fucking listen, he wasn't going to be able to restrain himself. Daryl was, quite frankly, the only person he had left in the world that gave a shit about him. He didn't really know _why;_ neither of them tended to dwell on their reasons for wanting each other and being together. It just kind of happened and they were both fine with that, just fine knowing that someone cared.

If she'd taken that away from him, he didn't know what else there was to live for.

The front door finally banged open but he was only met with Rick and Shane, both of them looking tired, their shirts stained with blood. He couldn't help himself from springing up, mouth exceedingly dry.

"Is he going to be okay?" he managed to get out, swallowing again. Rick nodded once and Glenn felt like his heart was finally restarting itself; a grin spread across his face completely of its own will. He knew that he was being way too obvious but he simply couldn't help himself. He didn't think anyone who'd just been informed that someone they loved wasn't going to die would be able to restrain themselves. Thankfully, Rick and Shane looked completely oblivious.

"She just nicked him," Rick said, running a hand through his hair. "But we should probably leave him alone for the night." Glenn merely nodded, turning away as his grin got even bigger. He didn't care about waiting for a few hours; Christ, that would be easy, so long as he knew that Daryl was alive.

He'd spoke (or rather, thought) too soon. Those precious hours turned out to be absolute torment. When they were sitting inside, eating the lavish dinner the women had made, he was too occupied to really taste the food, too busy staring in the general direction of the bedroom, where he was sure that Daryl was sleeping, recovering from Andrea's stupid shot.

He had to admit, she _did _look absolutely miserable about the whole situation. The entire time they ate, she merely stared down at the table, her face lined with tear tracks, eyes bright red like a drug addict's. As soon as her plate was cleared, she excused herself, already sobbing before she'd even left the house.

Nonetheless, he still wanted to smack her, just once, as a warning.

The night, however, was even worse. He couldn't sleep, not without Daryl there. He'd gotten so used to feeling his breath against his neck, rocking him to sleep like a child's lullaby. Without that, all he could do was stare up at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the night and the occasional creaking of the door of the RV. Every time he tried to shut his eyes, his thoughts would start racing, going into the dark place of his mind, throwing what if questions out into the air until he felt like he was suffocating underneath the weight of them. Finally, he gave up, pulling on a sweater and climbing out into the cool night air. He could hear someone on top of the RV and he figured that some company was probably better than being alone with his own mind so he climbed up and let himself get lost in a conversation with Dale about books and movies that they both missed. When Dale was replaced by T-Dog, he picked the conversation back up again, finding out that the man was actually an avid reader in the time before.

But no matter how long he talked, those thoughts about Daryl stayed in the back of his mind, taunting him. He was thankful when the sun finally burst over the horizon, awakening the rest of the camp in short order. At least then he could actually do something and, even though he was absolutely exhausted, he went about splitting wood, swinging the axe over and over again, listening for something, anything.

When the front door opened, the creak seemed to echo, erasing all other sounds. When Glenn turned and saw that it was Daryl slowly making his way down the steps, a bandage wove around the side of his head, the axe slipped from between his fingers, hitting the ground with a dull thud that he didn't hear.

Even if he _had_ wanted to stop himself, he couldn't have. He bolted, weaving through their campsite, moving as fast as he could towards Daryl. The man still looked like hell; he was obviously still tired and blood still flecked his skin but he was Daryl and he was _alive._

Glenn skidded to a stop just in front of him; the last thing he wanted was to knock him over and make him absolutely bedridden. The lump in his throat appeared to have come back and he forced himself to swallow past it, bringing one hand up to rest on Daryl's shoulder.

"Are you okay?" he finally managed to stammer, eyes flickering to the bandage. He caught a quick glimpse of a matching one wrapped around Daryl's ribs and this one he touched, lightly brushing his fingers over it. Time seemed to have stopped; nothing else mattered except what was right in front of him.

"Had worse," Daryl muttered, resting his hand on top of Glenn's, pinning it to his ribs. Glenn couldn't help but snort; he highly doubted that statement but he wasn't going to question it. It simply wasn't important enough.

"Honestly, I thought you were dead," he sighed, chuckling slightly. In response, Daryl smiled, a legitimate smile that wasn't a smirk or a leer.

"Kid, it's gonna take a little more than getting shot to stop me from doin' this." With that, Daryl kissed him and Glenn instantly melted against him, feeling like the universe had been restored to its rightful way. He could still taste blood on Daryl's lips but it only made him kiss harder, nails greedily digging into already bruised skin.

"Glenn," Daryl murmured as he pulled away, cradling Glenn's head in his hands, tongue flicking over his lips, "look behind you." Glenn slowly turned around and felt his stomach sink into the ground below his feet. It seemed like every other member of the camp had congregated to watch them, with varying degrees of shock written upon their faces. Glenn felt his cheeks turn red and he looked down at the ground, rubbing the back of his neck. He'd been meaning to tell the others about it eventually, maybe starting with Dale or Lori and then play it by ear judging by their reactions. But this was _not _how he'd planned on telling them; nowhere in his plan had a public make out session been outlined.

"You'd been planning on telling them soon, right?" All Glenn could do was nod, trying to interpret the reactions on their faces. Was that disgust he saw lingering in Shane's eyes or was it just the instability that was always there. Was Carol actually _smiling?_

"_Glenn_." Glenn turned back to Daryl, who was _definitely _smirking in that way that promised all sorts of unholy things.

"_Screw 'em." _

As Daryl roughly pulled him back in, grasping his hair in his fingers, Glenn decided that sounded like a great idea.


End file.
